Turn the lights off
by dulceInvierno
Summary: Perhaps, if you close your eyes, getting married with Draco Malfoy will have a less insipid taste on your mouth. The problem is that you can't, and letting him kiss you becomes almost... inevitable. Then, turn the lights off. -Rated 'M' -Marriage Law Fic


Important Authors Note:

_I had a tremendous urge to write a fic under the concept of 'Marriage Law', so knowing me, I could not resist._ _I know it's an idea that has been used too many times, but hopefully, this will live up to the challenge._ _I want to clarify that this story follows the canon without the epilogue._

It is rated _M._

_I realize that my Hermione or my Draco are a little OoC but ... what the hell._

_English isn't my first language, so if you find some kind of mistake in my writting, please let me know._

_Starting from here: I_ thank you infinitely _for taking the time to read me._

_If you are the kind of person who has the __education__ to leave your__ comment__ or __constructive criticism, __well, I thank you even more._

_Without further non-cultural concoction, I really hope you'll enjoy it._

Sari

**20-02-2011: I fixed all the grammar mistakes. I hope i didn't leave any without correction. But if that's the case, sorry :)**

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Disclaimer: characters belong to JK Rowling. The rest is mine.

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Chapter Soundtrack (highly recommended): '' Circles '' by Hollywood undead

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"TURN THE LIGHTS OFF"

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Chapter I

.

...

It weights. _A lot_. This damn dress weighs more than anything else you'd dress before. And no, it does not irritate your skin, but how much you wish it did. You would love to say that is awful. Ugly. An atrocity. That it makes you look fat, pale, undesirable.

And for a moment, it does. It makes you feel nausea, feel like the earth will swallow you and crush you with a reality that will never let you get up.

_It's beautiful._

You've never worn something so soft or used a piece so perfectly molded to your body that feels like a second skin. The color is a pure white, so white, that you're surprised you did not stay blind just by looking at it. And with beautiful authentic pearls, neither of plastic nor glass.

It is a work of art and you're stuck in it. Breathing is difficult, but it has some kind of spell that causes you to not really care. And it is _so_ _long _... you pray that it also has one that won't let you fall like the fool you feel, while walking down the long hallway in it.

You have not seen yourself in the mirror, and you really do not want to. By a strange, and _obvious _reason, you don't want to save any pictures in your memory of you on this day ... remembering yourself reflected in that large mirror, wearing a dress that should have never been yours, dressing jewelry from a family that will never be part of your heart.

You refuse to see that soft veil, falling like a uniform waterfall, outlining your face, as an invitation to the kiss of a man who your kisses do not belong to.

You'll scream. You'll cry. Run. Tear apart this stupid, beautiful, perfect dress from your body and flee away. Give up your magic. You'll scream and curse this world that was supposed to be perfect, after you sacrificed your youth to defend it.

_"Breathe, Hermione_"

Ginny brings you to reality, with both of her arms over your bare shoulders. She looks beautiful on her green dress, contrasting with her red hair tied on a bun top.

_"Relax and breathe, Hermione. Please"_

Probably you look a bit paranoid, staring at your feet that are from a second to eject off the ground. But how to avoid it. If every fiber in your being is howling despair.

_"Ginny, no ... I can't" _you bemoan.

You can't. You won't. You wouldn't have done this if… You _can't_ just...

No. _No_.

_"I know it's hard, Hermione, but you have to face it, more than ever_ _you_ must_ be brave,"_ she says with a firm voice that lacks with the conviction that it should have "_You look beautiful, and you will be strong, you'll face the situation and make the best of it"_

She turns you towards the mirror and your biggest fear (of this tinny precisely moment) becomes a reality.

In front of you, something that looks very much like a pretty doll is reflected. You never had many when you were a little girl and never stopped to admire them in the store windows.

But you could swear, if it was not because you would not sin with such high vain, that you've never seen anything so beautiful...

You begin to cry.

_"No, you'll ruin your makeup!"_ Ginny begins to gently cleanse and you realize that she's struggling for not to cry too "_Mama taught me a spell that won't let tears fall_"

It is heat what you feel in the back of your eyes after Ginny has raised the wand for a moment.

The tears no longer come.

But the desire to mourn is still there.

_"I don't think I can be as strong as you ..." _you whisper, without been able to detach your eyes from the reflection in front of you.

You feel how your best friend, a sister without the need to share blood, starts to shake.

_"Sometimes I feel like I'm going to lose my mind" _she whispers "_But it is not forever, Hermione, just a little more and we'll be free"_

You nod and swallow deeply. Ginny has been suffering this martyrdom more than two months and she's still here, standing stoic, brave. You will not show less character.

_"Let's just do it"_

...

.

...

_"Hermione, you look beautiful, my baby girl"_ your father smiles, a big, happy smile.

He is crying, but unlike your tears, his are of pure pride.

Of course you have not told him that all this is a farce. That this dress is not yours, that this family is not part of you and that this man is not the owner of your heart but the deserver of all your negative thoughts.

How do you tell to the people that you love the most, that you're going to sacrifice your happiness?

For a world that you sacrificed them for, your youth, and risked your life countless of times. And at the end a bunch of political cowards, who never took sides and were able to hide under their thick foreign bank accounts, now govern the Ministry and suddenly dictated that you should marry someone you _don't love_ for the re-population of the magical world and heal the relationship between purebloods and sons and daughters of _muggles_.

How to explain it while you tell them that you're ready to give up your freedom, as long as you can keep your wand and that redhead family that now has become like a second extension?

They may not understand. No, they could not understand. And just how would you want them to be able to do so?

_"Thank you, Dad,"_ you smile him, with that grimace that you practiced in the mirror several times over the past two months that the planning of this tale of terror has lasted.

The music starts. In the distance, you can see a pair of magical swans, many white fabrics in the air, flowers. You perceive a beautiful smell invading each corner and the sky is in such a clear state of blue. Because Narcissa did not allow anything less than the gardens of Kent for the wonderful wedding of her only child.

You don't even want to imagine how much all this has cost.

Suddenly, you feel how your dad ups a bit the pressure on your left arm and you realize it's time.

You'll walk through the altar, directly to your greatest nightmare.

One step, two steps, three steps.

First the right and then the left. Again the right, the left again. Ginny is the one who offered to teach you this part, when she had to do it on her own wedding to the eldest nephew of Dirk Cresswell.

You're grateful. The dress does have a spell to not get tripped.

You raise your eyes and the view actually takes your breath away.

Everything here is ... sublime. White, shades of green, silvery lights. Exquisite, all of it. If you were not so terrified, you'd know that the string music is pure ecstasy and the odd sunny day is being welcomed by a handful of clouds that undoubtedly will cry by the late night.

You converge your gaze and you see him.

Here.

Him.

Draco Malfoy. _Your future husband._

Your feet stops for a moment. Ephemeral.

Your brain gallops, glaring. You're going to run. Who cares about the wand? Why would you want a world like this? Get out of here, Hermione. _Run._

Dad presses a little over your arm_ "Is everything all right, baby girl?"_

You swallow deep and nod.

You are brave. Survived a war and helped Harry to face a monster. _You can do this_.

Left. Right. You start to count.

One, two, three, four.

And you get there. There is no longer anything more to walk. Your dad kisses your cheek, with some tears escaping his eyes, and hands over, lovingly, your little hand to the man who now is next to you.

"_Take care of her"_ he tells to Draco Malfoy.

If only he knew.

_"I will_" he answers, serious, impassive, calm. You do not comprehend how he has come to accept this so easily. Getting married with a daughter of _muggles_, and _you,_ of all people.

Your dad nods and goes to stand beside your mom, who cries at full speed, with a smile of pride and nostalgia painted on her face.

You do not dare to look toward the Weasleys. It would be too much to see Ronald and his wife, a beautiful daughter of muggles. It would be too much. Not now, you cannot see them _now_.

You clench your eyes for a moment and you're so aware of how he hasn't dropped your hand. He holds it between his fingers, long and warm.

Perhaps is a precaution measure, for if you try to run away again.

And a small part of you, tiny, is grateful. You could bet on your life, though he has not professed at any time (at least not in your presence) the disgust and disagree, that he also hates the situation. And he experiences the same (or even more) discomfort and displease.

Remember that you are not alone on this.

You both can share your misery for the next five years that this tragic-comedy would take place.

The current Minister of Magic is the one who performs the ceremony. The Malfoy's would not have consented less. A pure blood, with new 'revolutionary' ideas, which even made his own daughter to marry against her own will with a son of Muggles from somewhere in southern France.

You can't hear him speak.

You disconnect yourself and instead, focus all your attention on the soft background music and your fingers still caught in the hand of Draco Malfoy, as a constantly reminding that you should not run.

You are stronger than all this, remember it.

It's the vow's turn. For a magical wedding, it does not resemble far from a _muggle _one, except that after exchanging rings, you both also have to exchange a spell between your wands and then sign the contract.

When it's the time for the rings part, you do not dare to raise your eyes. Maybe if you imagine that is Ron who is the one collocating that thick band of gold on your finger, you'll feel a little bit better.

But Malfoy is a bastard and from this moment on he does ruin your perfect little moments. He squeezes your wrist, in a clear sign of annoy, forcing you to look up and clash your eyes with his.

When he slides the thin gold band on your finger, right after the heavy engagement ring that you have never liked because it is more ancient than Roman civilization itself and the diamond is too heavy; he continues looking at your face.

Your eyes.

It's a strange feeling. You do not know why he's doing it. Probably to intimidate you or say something like 'I'll be the boss in here. "

As if you were going to allow it, for the love of Merlin.

But even so, the ring is placed around your finger, with his big, warm hands, while your eyes get penetrated by those gray orbs, and when he finishes, for a moment, you could swear that the look he gives you is almost like this kind of ... _warm._

When you least expect it, the ceremony is over, and a chaste kiss is placed upon your lips.

And he has not dropped your little hand yet.

...

.

...

The party is a myriad of things that you expected and others that you did not.

The only good thing that you can see about this law is that in reality, it does seems that is actually ending with all those tendencies of _'I am a pure blood, I am going to be on this side'_ and _'I am a son of muggles, proud of it and I'll sit away from you, judgmental bastards' _

The tables are a variety of young families that have been form in the last year that this law has come into course.

Pure bloods, sons of _muggles_, some women pregnant and ready to bring a lot of halfbloods with strong blood flowing through their veins and into the magical world.

At least the Squibs population will be reduced.

You see them. Bill with Fleur (the law was not put between marriages already formed before), Percy and Audrey, George and Angelina (proved their engagement of one and a half year, and were allowed to get marry), Ron and his new wife, Anna, and Ginny's husband, Terrance. Charlie and his wife, another daughter of _muggles,_ from Romania.

Harry has escaped the nightmare, being the hero par excellence and a halfblood.

But these families represent mixture, not necessarily a union.

A forced marriage is not the best way to mend fences, you think.

Draco Malfoy is sitting next to you. He hasn't said a word, you neither. And honestly? You prefer it that way.

What could possibly be said at this point?

You eat in silence.

It is something utterly delicious. There's elf wine too, which you do not drink at all. Why? Well, first, because it goes against all your principles, and second, if you start drinking it, you might as well finish the entire bottle, make a fool of yourself, lose consciousness and skip the _'prerequisite'_ for the wedding night.

You eat in silence.

...

.

...

You have not taken off the dress. Even if it could represent a form of distraction, a way of helping so that the _'situation'_ could end more quickly, and then try to sleep for the next hundred years before all this madness ends.

But you can't remove it from your body. You hands shake too much to try to maneuver.

Narcissa took off the veil and the long tail. She gave you an unusual smile, held your hands in hers and led you to a magnificent room, where you are now, in a wing opposed to the one where she's staying with her husband, Lucius Malfoy, here, in the mansion.

You look around you. Everything here is strange, new, _terrifyingly perfect._

The fireplace is on. There is wine served in two glasses.

At least, there are no petals scattered on the bed, because you're sure that it would have broken your resolution and you would be running down the hall way right now.

No music, no candles. The air smells clean, with a pinch of incense from another era.

Your hands still shake.

You never imagined that your first time would be like this. You're not a hopeless romantic, you've always been more practical, realistic. But at least you had imagined that it would be with someone you loved ...Or at least, someone for which you would feel a deep respect and affection.

But with Draco Malfoy? The universe plays practical jokes and you believe you will not be able to take it without collapse first.

The door creaks. Someone arrives.

And as much as you want them to be red, brown, blue, black, green hairs ... They are blond, and Draco Malfoy enters the room.

_"Hello"_ you whisper.

That's all that can get out of your mouth, because you're so nervous and have such sweaty hands that you are sure that if you look down, you will see a puddle around your feet.

"_Hello" _he answers you back.

He's also still dress. A black, magical fashion, impeccable suit. A silver tie that matches with the embroidery on your white dress, his hair combed back.

If you were not so nervous, this situation was completely different, and he wouldn't be Draco Malfoy, you'll dare to think that he's a wizard rather ... attractive.

And tall.

You do not say anything more. And he neither.

In fact, you have not talked much with him. It was almost always with Narcissa, who will contact you to tell you when and where you were supposed to be to test the cake, the dress or give her your guests list.

He was never there.

Now you wish you would have encountered him before, so that this situation was less uncomfortable.

So, for the first time this night, you just put aside your own prejudices and take the cup of wine that is on the small table. You give it a big gulp. And then another.

If you fall unconscious, he will have no choice but to take you asleep and you would not have to remember anything.

_Brave plan,_ you quiet snort.

He walks slowly. To you. As he breaks the node tie with a slow meticulous movement.

He remains looking at you with those gray eyes and suddenly the glass is very heavy between your fingers.

He goes as far as you are. You hold your breath.

_"Don't drink it" _he murmurs, while with his long fingers wraps your own and removes the cup from your hands _"Hermione Granger does not drink elf wine"_

Is that a joke? Accomplishment? A recognition?

_"I was ..."_

His lips are suddenly upon yours.

You open your eyes in surprise.

How? Why? What is he ...?

And you close them.

His lips are _so_ warm.

And fierce. Soft. The manly smell of a sudden is all that surrounds you and the heat that he emanates.

He is tall and he has had to lean to kiss you.

Sweet Merlin that his lips are warm, firm, smooth, perfect. And not just his lips. This is a kiss. A real one. You feel how he enters your mouth slowly but determined. With his tongue invading, _melting, _each inch of space.

How did you get to this?

The legs fail you. With the reflexes of an entire former Quidditch player, he grabs you with his arms and now not only he's kissing you and you're kissing him, but you're so close to him, folded back, with a brain dysfunctional blended. Both seem like one.

He tastes like wine. Or is it you who tastes like wine?

Your guts are burning. His lips do not stop maneuvering against yours, his tongue is such a right hand. You can't help but reciprocate.

He releases one of his arms from your waist, leads it to your hair and begins to undo the hairstyle that took two hours to Narcissa's stylist to make.

You moan a little.

Oh Merlin, you have _moaned_.

And he takes it as an invitation to bury his fingers in your now loose hair, tighten further his other arm on your waist and devour your mouth without mercy.

_"Hermione ..." _hewhispers, groans, hisses.

What?

How?

Is he thinking of ... _you_? You thought that with his closed eyes and that clear exuded passion, he was thinking of someone else. For instants you were thinking of Ron.

Now you feel terrible.

And about to budge.

"_Yes?" _You articulate in a moment that he frees your mouth.

And he looks at you with those eyes that are no longer gray and instead, are almost black liquid.

Now he takes your face with both hands, and is such a personal gesture, that you do not know if trying whether to interpret or not might lead to something good.

_"I will not hurt you"_

Oh Merlin.

He has ... and you ...

The last defense falls. Netherstorm. Loud. Destructive.

You do not know why, maybe a demon has possessed you or your reason has melted next to your brain mass. But you believe him.

You choose to believe him.

You _need_ to believe him.

Just for this night.

You no longer think of Ron.

_He said he would not hurt you._

You nod nervous, but a little calmer. He approaches and gives you a soft small kiss on the lips, that you share and give back.

He flips you. Now you see the bed in front of you.

Suddenly it feels very cold not to have his lips against yours.

Until you realize how he starts to slip off the cords of your dress. Slow, _too slow,_ a little annoying voice tells you.

You tremble, your hands shake. And while he continues with the laces, he kisses your neck, your shoulders. Grabbing your hair to one side, tasting the base of your neck.

He kisses your left shoulder again and...

The dress falls to the ground.

You are naked.

Oh Merlin. You're naked from the waist up.

The hands, arms, belly, soul. Everything that is you, trembles.

He starts to kiss you again. Your shoulder blades, the line of your column. His fingers suddenly feel a little warmer, covering your hips, close to the navel and around your waist.

Another groan from you again.

Merlin.

He turns you again. You feel like one of those dolls with rotational axis.

You're naked.

Yes, _you're naked_. Your breasts are bare. And you're in front of Draco Malfoy.

Breathing is the last thing you do.

He looks at you in this way ... Merlin, how you call the way he's looking at you? Warm? Hungry?

And he begins to take off his own shirt. Slow, slowly. _Too slow._

He undoes the buttons one to one, while looking at your eyes, your neck, your chest, your hips, navel, the beginning of your legs.

You're trembling. Of nervousness and anticipation.

Of not knowing what to expect and suddenly, want it all.

When you see his bare chest and abdomen, you remember to breathe just to forget it instantly again. He's ... perfect. White, firm, and he looks so soft.

You want to touch him and see if he is truly so soft in deed.

Now you see him take off his pants, underwear, shoes. And he does in a _who knows how_ way, without losing his balance and continuing to watch you with those eyes, making you feel so self conscious of your entire body.

You suppose that it must have take years of practice.

And now you are both here. He's naked, and you, about to be. Facing each other. He, breathing hard, and you, holding your breath.

_"You're beautiful,"_ says, as he approaches again.

And now you know that the spell has ended because you miss a tear of your right eye.

Merlin, what is happening? Why do you feel this whole train wreck inside the stomach? Why do you want to kiss him until you wear out the lips and sink in his heat until you no longer know what is yours and who is which?

You got him in front again. With his long fingers that gently capture your neck.

You stand up on your tiptoes and now you're the one who starts the kiss.

And it's really a kiss. This kiss. The kiss.

If you had kissed him before, then this is probably a melt away in his mouth and been tattooed within it.

Now it is _he_ who moans.

You feel something under your hips and between your thighs that triggers your temperature and humidity levels. It does not help much when you feel like something even hotter, firm, long, is pressed against the base of your stomach.

Blessed Merlin.

What day is today? Why am I here in the first place?

It does not matter.

His chest is smooth, firm. You know it because you have dared to raise your hands and settle them upon the region of his pectorals.

The world spins faster and faster.

And you can't stop kissing him or him kissing you. A synchronized dance. Tongues are the dancers and the hot saliva vibrant background music.

Now you upload your hands a little more, from his neck, to the cheeks, buried them in his hair.

Suddenly, you're in the air, with both legs clinging to his waist and your mouth still anchored to his.

He takes you to the bed.

Lies you.

You re-open your eyes.

What you see takes away the last trade left of sanity.

He is there. Here. Above. Everywhere.

Naked, with eyes that no longer seem to be gray but darker, deeper, different.

With his long, elegant, _warm _fingers, caressing your cheek, wiping the traces left by the elusive tear.

Your heart gets squeeze.

Why is he looking at you like that? Why it seems like he could ...?

He kisses you.

That eliminates any argument that could be peeking through the clouds of what now you are sure it's passion that _overflows._

You touch his lips with yours.

Feel how, slowly, he begins to play with the last piece of clothing that fits you, lowering it by your thighs, reaching your knees, ankles and discarded them at the end.

Trough all the way, he has not ceased to kiss your mouth, the beginning of your breasts and the path formed between them.

And you want him to kiss you. You've never wanted something so awfully bad in your entire life.

You know that tomorrow you'll remember this and it will seem like the most absurd idea ever evoked in your head. But for now, of all the simple things in this mere existence that you know exist, all you want is Draco Malfoy kissing your breasts. Wet, hot.

Him.

So you arch, hoping that one of your nipples will get trapped between his teeth.

He seems to understand the message. Pounces on you, sucking, licking, and _profaning._

And you moan. Merlin, you'd never moan like this in your life and now that you're doing it, it doesn't seem so bad. Can you get aphonic from moan?

But he loses interest in your breasts. And again is devouring your mouth. You realize that's what he likes to kiss. And it sounds logical.

Only you would look for logic in times like these.

He opens your closed legs with one hand. Reality hits you at once.

_"I've never ..."_ you have said it so low that you are surprised he heard you, it seems that moans does affect the voice "_I've never done this"_ the sound reaches your voice.

He seems surprised and looks at you in a new way that…even though you try to analyze, you do not understand.

_"It will physically hurt"_ he says after what it seemed an eternity "_I'll be gentle"_

Draco Malfoy gentle?

With you? _Now? _

You have not finished deciding if you want to cry, laugh or run when you feel that_ bulge_ pressing hard against your most intimate place.

By reflect, your hips move away and try to sink into the bed.

_"Relax"_ he whispers.

Relax? How the hell are you going to relax if he is about to put that thing on your...?

He kisses you.

You absolutely hate him, because that damn kiss just made you forget whatever you were thinking.

His mouth, his lips. Merlin, his lips...

Warm.

Heated…

Oh, dear lord, has he done it?

Blessed heaven, _he has done it_.

He has put his...

Hard.

Sharp.

That conquers and invades.

Full.

_Rips._

You stop kissing him. Throw your head back.

It hurts, and yes, it is a different pain, but it _hurts._

He takes your face with both hands "_Relax_" he whispers with his lips at millimeters from yours, and has this focus expression, like if staying still cost him more work than it should cost.

You nod, because at this point, you do not know what else to do.

The pain morphs.

It is still intense, throbbing, hot. But it is something so strange, new. Unlike anything you've ever felt before.

A sense of filling in your belly that rises and then, stays below.

No, it doesn't hurt anymore. They are rather tickles.

_No,_ they are not tickles. The tickles do not...

It feels good.

Merlin, it feels good ...

Merlin! It feels _so_ good.

Did you just stir your hips?

Oh, yes, you have stirred your hips and he has…

Merlin!

Oh, everything that is blessed. What is _this_? He moves his hips, you move yours.

_What is happening? _

And you thought he could not get more _in_, and... With each approach of his body he seems to be sinking a little more inside of you.

What if it gets stuck in there?

_Merlin, please_ let it get stuck in there and to never come out.

What the _hell_ are you thinking?

Oh. Oh.

You cling your hands on his back. You arch, moan.

You pierce him with your nails, because you will not scream, _you're not going to scream._

Lava. Hurricanes. Tsunamis. Whirlwinds. Forest fires. What are natural disasters compared to _this?_

_"Look at me"_

And what a view. You do not stop looking at him. You'll look at him all he wants, but please, let him continue doing what he's doing.

Your heart it's going to pop out from your chest.

_"Draco ..."_ is the first time you say his name.

His eyes seem to glow when you say it. He begins to move faster, stronger.

If you say it again, will he move even faster?

"_Draco"_

...Oh dear lord.

Yes.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Yes!

"_Draco ..."_

Jesus. Mohammed. Buddha. Who should you thank for this?

He crushes you with his body, while moving his hips against yours. Kisses you, and what a kiss.

An incoherent kiss, without any kind of strategy. Of clumsy movements.

The concentration is elsewhere.

You start to get dizzy. And you are not longer kissing him but just by looking his eyes, your lips get dehydrated.

He ... his... and you ...

Are you babbling?

Can a person mentally babble?

Wait, why is he moving his hand down there? What is he ...?

Oh, for heaven's sake!

You scream.

"_Merlin!"_

He's pushing something you've got down there that plots the switch to the purest happiness of all.

_"It's not Merlin" _Eh? What is he talking about? Why does he speak?

Do not let him speak!

Please continue doing what you were ... Why does he stop? Why the hell ...?

He does not move either.

Why?

He looks at you expectantly. Severe. Upset?

But why ... ?

_"Only you"_

Did you just say that?

Why have you said _that_?

_"Only me"_

Oh Circe.

He smiles. Draco Malfoy is smiling?

But if he and you and ...

And he kisses you. You kiss him back. And begins to move again.

_Oh thank you, thank you._

You move too.

He tortures you with his hand down there and your nails are no longer enough. You cling to his chest, his back.

You should be looking for logic in all this, but... it's like it does not matter.

It's heat. It's delirium.

A chimera of restlessness, loss, dreams and hallucination.

Kisses. More kisses.

Assaults.

Bursts of frenzy. You do not know, you want, crave, burn, become another and fall from the moon.

Feel like you break in two parts.

_There._

A little more.

Just a ...

Where?

You do not know.

But it is there. Just...

Oh, oh, oh.

Yes It's almost...

Oh yes, almost _there_.

_"Almost ..."_

He pushes one last time and ...

There.

There!

Oh, heaven!

There!

You swear you've seen black.

You have seen ...

He explodes.

_Merlin!_

It feels so ... he has _exploded._

That was ... _is_ ... you see him close his eyes. You watch him arch and curse. Look at the sweat that has formed on his forehead.

You feel so ... full. Complete. As if every piece was in their right final place. Even more satisfied than when you got your TIMO's results or when you won that scholarship in the Magical Law Department.

How is that even _possible_?

You admire his white paper skin with those small red marks.

The mark of your fingers. In his arms. You do not even remember having clung to his arms.

What is the very existence compared to _this?_

It sounds so exaggerated and unrealistic, but ...

You breath hard.

He exploded, you too, and every sinew in your body is in trance, with your hip killing you ...

You tremble.

He's still inside you but not as strong as before and _please, stay right there._

He kisses you.

You kiss him back.

Slow, precise and conclusive. As the last chapter of a good book.

Your mind begins to clear of that strange fog that had it engaged in anything but think.

He comes out.

Letting you feel kind of empty.

He lies on your side.

Should you say something?

Empty, says an annoying little voice: _empty._ You try to ignore it.

You should probably say something, but you do not have the slightest idea of what to say.

For the brightest witch of your generation, you've fallen short. Not to be proud of it, but you do not blame yourself either.

And now?

Maybe you should leave the room and avoid the embarrassment of saying something that would not be ...

_"Sleep"_

Was that an order?

A petition? Suggestion?

You realize that you really do not know him one bit. Draco Malfoy is a complete stranger and you… you just had sex with a _complete stranger._

No matter how _married_ you both are.

The nerves are replaced by anger. Anger supplanted by sadness. And sadness trade by desolation.

You close your eyes.

You do not have the resolution to move.

Through the window you can see how it starts raining and you decide that the sky is crying what you would not cry.

Sleep comes soon and before you're drag by it, you feel how your heart seems a bit cramped.

You really hope you will not wake up within the next hundred years.

.

.

* * *

...

_...So, what you think?_

_I know that perhaps the 'verbal richness' of the protagonist was declining in the last scene… but honestly, in this situation, even Hermione Granger wouldn't be able to think clearly._

_Again, I know it was a little OoC, because you can imagine Hermione being more knowledgeable and mature about the subject and all that. But for me she's intelligent and educated in many things, but in love relationships she's a sympathetic lost bookworm._

_I'm writing this fic on Spanish (my first language) and then I'm translating it to English. So again, if you find some mistake on the translation or grammar or vocabulary, I'm really very sorry, and please, be kind and let me know._

_Thank you. _

_Reviews (and constructive comments) are more than welcome._

Dulce Invierno

(Sari)


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